Morning light, rippling and green, washed through the narrow window, offering relief to a restless and sleepless night. Draco's shoulders ached from being held tense in the same position, and his head throbbed from the hours awake. But as he watched the light dapple on the stone wall, Draco couldn't bring himself to move. Even breathing left him worried the rise and fall of his chest would summon the dark lord over, whose gaze bore into his back throughout the night.

The light brightened. With the morning came the acceptance he would have to force himself up and face what lay in store for him. He feigned sleep as long as practical, and with as deep a breath as he dared, sat upright. Draco kept his movements cautious, and brushed his hair back to attempt smoothing it down.

Turning, he faced Voldemort, back in the form of Thomas McGruder. The relief rushed over him before the realization that the form didn't make a difference. Despite the lack of red eyes, he would watch Draco just the same. The illusion of ease came from being faced with someone who could have been any other student. Thomas appeared much too common for who wore his skin, with a Chaser's build, sandy brown hair, and a light trace of freckles around his nose. Only the expression gave him away.

"Your discretion will be imperative," Voldemort said, already dressed in his school robes. The wand he held wasn't the same as the wand he branded Draco with.

"Yes, my lord."

"Thomas," he said pointedly. "You'll give nothing away to your housemates."

Draco caught himself before answering that time. "I understand."

He took the following silence as permission to move, and rifled through his trunk for his robes and books. He wasted little time getting ready for the day, wanting each movement to be as non-threatening and innocent as possible. A few spells removed the wrinkles from his robes and styled back his hair, but he didn't dare a glamour to hide the dark circles under his eyes. A glamour was much more out of place, and today had to be as common as any other first day of classes. Somehow, Draco needed to pair that with treating Voldemort—Thomas—like the rest of his house.

But respectfully.

Draco double-checked his reflection. Packed his book bag. Straightened his tie. He left nothing out of place that might signify anything amiss.

He and Thomas walked out together, and into Goyle, leaving the other dormitory.

"Any word on when Quidditch tryouts will be?" Goyle asked.

"You'd better hope this batch of second years can't fly if you expect to make Beater again."

Goyle mumbled, something about beating any second years who tried, but fell into place beside Draco. They passed Blaise knotting Crabbe's tie for him, and entered the common room, which buzzed with first-day excitement. Pansy's voice carried over the rest as she walked to them.

"I'll ask," she said over her shoulder to Daphne, too obvious for a natural segue into conversation. She worked between Goyle and Draco, clasping Draco's arm as she leaned over to Thomas. "The house is jabbering with questions about you. You won't mind answering a few over breakfast, would you?"

"Not at all," Voldemort said, his tone entirely changed from their dorm. Rather than sounding in control, he sounded like anyone else at the mercy of Pansy's questioning: gracious, but ready to have it far behind him.

"I doubt Draco even bothered to ask you about Durmstrang."

"The school isn't some grand mystery to me," Draco said, and didn't bother to wait for them. He thought to himself over and over to act naturally. He repeated the thought as a new mantra, reminding himself that if Voldemort expected Draco to act like himself, Draco had to follow through. He would find the proper balance.

Crabbe and Goyle caught up.

"Are you going to tell us what you did all holiday?" Crabbe asked.

"I kept busy. I imagine you both found ways to pass the time"

The Bloody Baron hovered outside the entrance to the dungeon hallway, and they paused to give him opportunity to pass. He tended to anger when they walked through him. It gave Draco a moment to appreciate being back in the halls, without the dark lord hovering at his shoulder. Having Crabbe and Goyle on his either side was familiar and comfortable, a welcome sensation after a night of being terrified to flinch.

"It's not like you not to write," Goyle said.

"When I'm busy, it is. Something you were eager to tell me?"

He had known them both since his birth. Their summers had followed the same schedule since they were seven and the Goyles bought the cottage in Hamburg. His father knew their fathers and their fathers before them, going back generations. Given their repetitive nature and his general lack of interest, Draco couldn't think of anything he might have missed out on during the refrain from correspondence.

"No," Crabbe said, and he sounded bitter about it.

Frustrated by the attitude when he had so much bigger problems, Draco glared until Crabbe dropped the act. Glaring didn't have the same effect as it used to, having to now look up at them. The resentment over the height difference got the better of him, and Draco took several long steps to get out ahead of them.

"How's the private room?" Goyle asked. "It's strange only having four."

"You don't appreciate the space?"

"They moved your bed."

"You think I was sleeping on the floor?"

"How's he for a roommate?"

Draco took the stairs two at a time, not waiting for them to lumber up. He heard their footsteps hasten, and he'd hardly made it halfway down the next corridor before they were at his side again.

"Fine, I suppose. We didn't stay up chatting the night through."

"The room big?" Crabbe asked.

"Not at all."

They wouldn't be able to see it, and early dissuasion might keep them at bay. For however long it took Voldemort to accomplish his purpose, Draco would have four or five batches of polyjuice brewing. Crabbe and Goyle were thick, but not to the extreme they wouldn't ask questions.

They beat the majority of the student body to the Great Hall. The hum of voices rang in his ears and left him annoyed, still too accustomed to the summer alone in his room. Then, it had been too quiet. Draco had left the Wireless running almost constantly, switching from the news broadcasts to the much less upsetting musical ones. At least then, he got to pick the noise that surrounded him.

Crabbe and Goyle sat across from him, blocking his view of the rest of the room. He would address it later, when they weren't within earshot of so many people.

"Do you really think I can't make the team?" Goyle asked.

"I think you need practice. What drills did you run over the summer?"

"You know we didn't get around to sport," Goyle said, voice low. "But we've still got to have hold over second years."

"Who's talking second years?" Crabbe asked.

The rest of their year caught up with them, and Thomas slid into the seat beside Draco. It displaced Theo a moment before he sat, and Draco caught him preparing to argue it. He shook his head to Theo. Let them think he was welcoming the new kid.

As customary, the others filled in around Draco. Draco had the only constant seat, and the others shifted depending on who showed up first. Adding in Thomas would muck up their system, taking one of two seats beside him.

He really didn't need to worry himself over trivialities. Let Pansy sort out a new system if she wanted to.

Draco's appetite vanished thinking about who sat to his left, but for appearances, he buttered a slice of toast. No one around him, no one in the school, could fathom the secret Draco had been entrusted to keep, and where that once might have excited him, now it weighed heavy.

The toast was dry, and he had to wash it down with half a cup of tea.

"So, since the location is kept hidden," Pansy said, as if carrying on a former conversation, "How do they manage with so many former students running about? They can't possibly obliviate everyone."

"It's another secret of the school," Vold—Thomas said.

Pansy propped an elbow on the table, knocking her fork against her plate, more interested in one of the biggest stories of the school year than in her breakfast. The clattering of her cutlery earned a glare from Blaise, which she didn't acknowledge.

"What really made you transfer?" she asked. "It couldn't have actually been that business with Potter."

"Father's work took us north," Voldemort said, leaving Draco to ponder how much of Thomas's actual story was true. To get the hair for the polyjuice, he must have met the family. And expecting this to carry on for months, Thomas must have been locked away somewhere easily accessible.

Pansy never could hide her disappointment. "The story being passed around the dorms is much more interesting."

"Likely because you started it," Draco said.

"Were you hoping for something extra to spread?" Thomas asked.

Pansy shrugged, a light smirk twisting up her lips. "It would give you an air on intrigue."

"Being a sixth-year transfer doesn't suffice?"

Draco heard it instantly, the ease with which Voldemort could play into Pansy's sensibilities. He wanted to keep people away from him, and having Pansy narrate his story would be a brilliant first step. People would go to her to gossip, and only one person would come to him.

"We're all reeling with curiosity as is," Pansy said. "We'd love to hear all about life at a different school."

"I can tell you about it. I'm sure you can fill everyone in for me to save me from having to continually repeat myself."

Her eyes brightened. "I can take that burden off your hands."

Over the course of breakfast, she asked him a dozen more questions. Voldemort answered them all as though Thomas's memories were his own. They might have been, depending on where Thomas truly was and what had been done to him.

Voldemort didn't touch his plate. No one else seemed to notice.

Snape brought over their timetables as breakfast wound down. Draco skimmed over his briefly, if only to see what times he had for that day. His schedule was as full as he'd been able to make it, with all NEWT-level classes. Today, He had Defense in the morning, then nothing until Potions that afternoon. Tomorrow, he would have Charms and Transfiguration. He had the same schedule Monday and Wednesday, and the same Tuesday and Thursday. On Friday, he only had double Arithmancy in the morning.

A short glance to the side confirmed that Voldemort's timetable was identical to his own. Prefect rounds and Quidditch practice would be Draco's only time to himself.

The idea of free periods had been a lot better when they only included studying for one. He could only hope the menial tasks Voldemort mentioned meant homework alone. Even so, he would have a double set of NEWT-level homework, done differently enough to pass inspection. He loathed doing his own homework.

Pansy leaned over to take Draco's table. "We'll have Charms and Transfiguration together," she said, which opened the floodgates for the others to compare their own schedules.

"We aren't in Potions," Crabbe said. "You'll have to chop your own ingredients."

"I imagine most of the tables will get shuffled around this year," Draco said. "You're better off in History."

"I won't chop ingredients for you," Theo said, "But I'll be in your class."

"And I could use a partner as well," Voldemort said.

Thomas. You have to think of him as Thomas.

Saying no wasn't optional, so Draco nodded, both to Thomas, than to Theo.

With the hands-on training he received over the summer, Draco had no concerns with Potions class this year. It was remarkable how much Snape had to teach when he wasn't juggling thirty confused students. In the hours spent one-on-one, Snape taught Draco the proper manner for preparing all sorts of ingredients, how to read the intent of directions as opposed to what had been printed, how to increase potency, and hundreds of other tricks from maintaining temperature to timing every stir. Draco had no doubts he could impress the new teacher as easily as the last.

"I thought you'd never drop Runes," Theo said.

"I could only choose five."

He found Runes the most enjoyable subject, and Theo was the only study partner who paid attention for more than a quarter hour. When the war was over and Draco had free time once more, he would study it in his own time.

Draco forced down the last corner of his toast and the last swig of his tea. Pansy could hold them hostage chattering about nothing all day if given chance. It was only the first day, and he wouldn't set the precedent.

Thomas got up with him.

"I imagine you recall where the Defense class is," Draco said, heart racing, knowing he had to treat Thomas the same as he would anyone else, and hating himself for it.

"It hasn't been so long."

Voldemort must have attended Hogwarts at some point, but Draco couldn't guess at his age. He rose to power before Draco's birth, which would have made him at minimum the same age as his father. When Draco aged, would he still remember his way around the halls?

Theo and Thomas took the places Crabbe and Goyle used to walk, to Draco's left and right. Crabbe and Goyle both abysmally failed their OWLs, and it meant only Transfiguration with them. It was his first year without their presence at his side, without their defense. Despite who wore Thomas's skin, Draco didn't count on Voldemort to fend off scuffles in the corridors.

"How is the new room?" Theo asked.

"Your wardrobe at home is bigger."

Theo leaned around Draco, putting a hand on his arm to support himself while he addressed Thomas. "What do you think of it?"

Thomas glanced down at the hand on Draco's arm, and then said, "More comfortable than Durmstrang dormitories."

"You must be glad to be back."

"Hogwarts always did feel more a home."

"Did you have trouble traveling back?" Theo asked. "Father said it's nearly impossible to get portkeys registered for international travel."

Draco shook Theo's hand off his arm under the guise of moving his book bag to his left side. They were approaching the Defense classroom, and it was the only class this year Draco couldn't anticipate. With Snape as professor and Voldemort a study partner, how could it possibly play out traditionally?

"My mother has connections to speed along the process," Voldemort said.

Thomas.

Thomas.

Leading them into the classroom, Draco chose a desk near the front. At least here, the desks were singles, unlike Potions, where he would be expected to work with two others. For now, the three of them claimed three seats in a row, and as the classroom filled in, the other Slytherins in their year took over the front left side. Blaise and Daphne didn't seem pleased at Thomas displacing one of them.

As the large clock on the wall ticked to the start of the hour, Snape stormed into the room. He flicked his wand at the windows, shuttering the blinds and blacking out the morning light. It silenced the whispers and drew all gazes to him.

"I have given no instruction for you to take out your books," Snape said to those who had them opened. Granger tucked hers away quickly.

"The Dark Arts," Snape said, taking his place behind the podium at the front of the room, "Are far deeper and varied than your previous instructors have ever let on. You have been told of the Cruciatus Curse—" he said, giving the pictures on the wall behind him, of witches and wizards screaming in agony, a broad gesture, "—and have been told of the Dementor's Kiss, the outlawed potions, the worst of the stories printed within your books."

Snape gripped either side of the podium, and leaned forward, taking them all in before continuing. "Your education has been limited to those facts and stories deemed appropriate to teach. But what you will be facing can't be fought with simple spells and memorized theory. The Dark Arts encompasses all those in power wish the public remain ignorant of. Fighting against them is standing against an eternal unknown. You must open your minds. You must be prepared to face the unfathomable by doing the unfathomable."

Draco felt as flummoxed as the rest of the class appeared. A gentle gale creaked at the windows, a sound that might have gone unnoticed if the class had been taking notes or passing whispers. Snape's pause lingered on, and the longer it went, the more weight it added to his words.

"We are at war," Snape said lowly. "And none of you understand what that means. You have been sheltered. You have been coddled. What will happen when you find yourself opposed to someone you considered a friend? When loyalties are exposed, will you be able to raise your wand against the person sitting beside you?"

"Professor," Potter said, breaking the general trance that had gripped the room, and earning most of the attention. "Are you going to be preparing us to defend against our classmates?"

Draco caught Thomas staring in a way that made it difficult to acknowledge him as anything but Lord Voldemort.

Didn't he want him dead? Why not just kill him now? Snape wouldn't raise a wand against him, and Voldemort could defend against a class of teenagers. What was he waiting on?

"One of the hallmarks of the first war was the unknown. Neighbors defended opposites sides while believing they were in agreement. You'd be wise to question any preconceived notions."

"Preconceived notions like trusting my friends?" Potter pressed.

"Watch your tongue, Mr. Potter."

"Better than watching for Ron to hex me."

"Then you better prepare for it," Snape said. "Partner off. All of you."

Before Theo could ask Draco, Voldemort tapped a finger on Draco's desk. The order came subtly, but gave no room to alternatives. Running seemed suitable.

The class pushed the desks to the walls, then stood opposite their partner. Snape walked down the aisle they formed between each pair, marking off equal distances between them.

"Disarm your opponent, and defend against being disarmed. You have been taught a proper duel, but battle has no propriety. Focus on your opponent alone, and use no spell that will cause lasting damage."

At the end of the row, Snape faced them once more. "You will perform these spells nonverbally."

Although Snape told them it wasn't a proper duel, Voldemort bowed to Draco. Standing opposite him, Draco couldn't see him as Thomas. Snape assigned him to disarm Lord Voldemort himself, and Draco knew he couldn't let a spell land, even if he had the capability.

Draco's experience with nonverbal magic was limited. He understood the mechanics of it, but before now, never had opportunity or reason to practice. The important thing to focus on was intent. What the words meant. What he wanted them to do.

Bowing back, Draco raised his wand. He knew without needing ask he would be the first to defend.

The Flipendo struck him, knocking him into one of the desks. His lower back hit the corner, and he winced. Draco rubbed the spot as he stood, and caught the air of pleasure humming around Voldemort. None of the other students faired better than Draco, but for the students who managed a wordless spell, it seemed most of them simply disarmed.

"Focus," Voldemort said as Draco moved back to posture.

Draco tensed at the command. The Dark Lord shouldn't have had to degrade himself into teaching Draco something as commonplace as nonverbal magic.

He wet his lips and lifted his wand again. This time, he tracked every moment. Voldemort carried the foreign wand as though he had used it all his life, and each flick and roll came naturally to him. He said nothing, and gave no indication of the incoming attack.

Draco remembered a shield half a second before catching himself colliding with the desk again. The reflex to protect his back was hardly worthy of praise.

"Durmstrang taught nonverbal magic earlier in the curriculum?" Draco said to offer a cover.

"For select students."

Draco rolled his head to either side, steeling himself for another bout. Snape didn't check on the pairs in any order, but walked behind one row at a time, correcting posture, insulting technique, demanding perfection. Although Draco failed time and again to deflect the jinx, Snape left them be.

On the eighth attempt, Draco managed to get his wand up in time to glance the jinx from his chest to his shoulder. It knocked Draco sideways, but he maintained his footing.

"And now, your turn," Voldemort said.

The jinx he chose didn't matter, because he knew none would land. Given that the task was to disarm, Draco went with a simple expelliarmus, trying to channel the charm in the same way he did the shield. His first three attempts amounted to nothing, and the fourth was dismissed with a casual flick of the wrist.

Across the room, Snape raised his voice. He stood between Potter and Weasley, belittling their efforts. A few of the pairs continued practice, but almost all, including Draco and Voldemort, stopped to watch. Voldemort watched Potter carefully, a dark frown draping his expression.

Draco just experienced Voldemort's control over nonverbal magic. What was to stop him from killing Potter now? No attention was directed his way, and in one motion, he could cast the killing curse. Snape would never accuse him. What held him back?

"You've earned yourself a detention, Mr. Potter," Snape was saying. His tone resonated thickly of restrained anger, but there was no restraint in his eyes. His emotion swelled over the room, and Draco, who should have made light of Potter getting a detention in the first class of the year, looked away just as Potter turned to look at him.

When Snape noticed the stares, he snapped at them all to return to their practice. And since Voldemort didn't need the practice, it left Draco to cast charm after charm, all failing to land. If Draco improved, he couldn't tell. Later on, he would practice it on Crabbe.

Before they were allowed to leave the classroom, they had to move back their desks, then copy the homework from the board. They were to turn in an essay two-feet long on the theory of nonverbal casting. Which meant for him, four feet.

Voldemort—Thomas—didn't write it down.

"You really aren't taking History of Magic?" Daphne asked. She had been at the desk behind him, and he only just noticed.

"And listen to Binns drone for a double period?"

"It's essentially a free grade," she said.

He had said that before, maybe back during fourth year. That was before he'd been caught using the quill enchanted to jot down the lecture for him, and all he had to do was reference the notes.

"I thought it more prudent to focus on the practical lessons," Draco said. On his way out of the classroom, Theo, Blaise, and Daphne all worked to walk alongside him. He didn't let himself look back to see where Thomas was.

"They weren't kidding about the extra work this year," Blaise said. "I don't intend to live in the library like Granger."

Draco scoffed, although he didn't disagree.

"Granger?" Thomas asked, allowing Draco to pin down the location of his voice. He walked with the group, somewhere behind Draco.

"A Gryffindor muggleborn," Blaise explained. "She overcompensates for her blood status by reading through the library."

Potter, Weasley, and Granger had left first, already out ahead by the length of a hall. Given the wild waving of a hand, Potter didn't appreciate the detention.

"Do you have free period this morning?" Draco asked Blaise.

"Until Runes. But Theo and I were planning to go meet up with Pansy and Millicent. Are you all joining us?"

He would have. Any other year, Draco would have led the group somewhere he wanted to go, controlled the conversation, had Theo start his essay.

"Can't," Draco said. "I'll catch up in the common room tonight."

If he couldn't, he would make up another reason then as to why. His schedule might have appeared to be filled with free time, but not opportunity. Whatever Voldemort had planned, Draco had to be available for.

They parted ways sooner than probably necessary, and Draco kept his head high as he made his way to the library. Every other student he passed shot him a dirty look. The occasional glare or rude gesture from other houses was nothing new, but ever since his father's arrest graced the front pages for a full week, he started to anticipate more than dirty looks.

The footsteps at his side could have been anyone, but Draco knew there was one shadow he'd struggle to shake.

"I'm going to start on my essay," Draco said. "Will you be studying as well?"

"Are you always so cross with your friends?"

"When they're acting so clingy."

"Is it commonplace for them?"

If the next order was to change how Draco interacted with the rest of his house, Draco didn't know how he could cover for that shift. They all knew him too well. It would be identified straight away.

"It is."

"You aren't actually cross by it."

"I'm accustomed to it."

If Draco minded them being clingy, the last five years would have been a nightmare. Their house focused on pretenses, and Draco wouldn't make a fuss over something he didn't mind. In fact, he enjoyed everyone gravitating around him, fighting over who got the honor of being closest.

They were the only people who remembered his name meant something.

"Is there anything else I should be doing?" Draco asked, once he confirmed no one paid them any mind.

"Focus on the homework assigned unless I direct you otherwise."

That order was much easier to follow than all the others before. Getting caught for cheating was leagues better than being caught for trying to bring Death Eaters into the school. As much as Draco loathed the thought of two sets of work, he wouldn't argue it.

Checking his watch, Draco mapped out the rest of his day. With lunch at noon and Potions at three, he had plenty of time to start preparing for both essays. He could pull his books and start marking off pages for reference, then pause to go eat something. If he didn't make it to lunch, Draco felt confident his stomach would protest before dinner. A slice of toast didn't constitute a breakfast. He also had to consider not being able to anticipate Slughorn's teaching style. Ideally, he would be more like Flitwick when it came to practical application over written study.

They claimed a table near the history section. On the first day of classes, and with the first class having just let out, the library was almost empty. It left Draco free to leave his bag on the table and wander the shelves, picking through the books on the theory of magical spells and on channeling magic. He took down more books than he expected he could use, but wanting to have the best ones available when inevitably, the rest of the class would come looking.

He returned to an empty table. Draco forced himself to keep focused on his own work, and not to glance around to see which section Thomas had gone to. Thomas's actions weren't Draco's concern. He had been told to focus on his own studies, and he intended to do exactly that.

While he read, he thought back to third year, trying to remember all he could about the actual Thomas. Would the teachers remember him well enough to pick out differences in his viewpoint from them until now? Perhaps Durmstrang's differences in education would account for it. What would a student formerly from Durmstrang believe about nonverbal magic?

He considered how to differently portray Thomas while he began to read. He could possibly play them off as opposites. Write his own papers, then have Thomas take an opposing viewpoint. But that might put extra work on himself. To research two sets of ideologies, he would need at least an extra hour daily.

Draco made note of a section on various wand and staff types as Thomas returned to the table. He sat by Draco, although there were five seats at the table and more than enough space for them to sit on opposite sides. The books they pulled were pushed to the middle in tall piles, both sets weighty and ancient. It took up most of their workspace, and Draco pushed his own back to clear space for Thomas's tomes.

They worked without speaking. Thomas's pages rustled as he read and Draco's quill scratched against parchment while he made notes. He kept two sets, and for the second, attempted to write with changed penmanship. He told himself this was his first effort, and if his effort wasn't passable, then he would pay a third year to pose as Thomas's handwriting.

An essay of this length typically took him two days to write, after a day of study. And doubling his coursework for the one class alone was almost a week's worth of effort. For five classes, he might never leave the library.

Not to mention the multiple batches of polyjuice he had brewing back in his room.

Tonight, he would draw up a schedule to block off time for every class. Maybe if he found the best way to add everything together, it wouldn't seem so daunting. Maybe he could still convince Theo to write a few of his essays.

When the bell boomed to indicate lunch hour, Draco set down his quill. Thomas didn't glance up from his book.

"Are you coming to lunch?" Draco asked, and felt the absence of formality. He bit back the need to address him as sir or my lord, or to keep his head bowed.

"I'm not."

"I'll return after," Draco said, standing. He left his books on the table, but hid the second set of notes in his bag.

Walking to the Great Hall gave Draco his first time alone since the train. With the burden of Voldemort following him lifted, Draco carried himself proudly down the corridors. He moved out of the way for no one, leaving them to sidestep around him. It earned him a few annoyed expressions, but let him feel at home for the first time that year.

So entranced at the notion of being alone, Draco knocked shoulders with someone who didn't skirt out of his way. At first, he intended to carry on without stopping, but one glimpse of the glasses forced Draco to pause to demand, "Watch your step, Potter."

He tried to continue on, but Potter responded with an equally biting, "I wouldn't think a prefect so careless in the corridors."

"What would you know about being a prefect?"

Weasley stepped forward before Potter, angrier at the comment than Draco expected, could. "Knock it out, Malfoy. You don't have Daddy to go crying to this year."

Draco's hand twitched towards his wand. How dare they mock his father's arrest when they were the ones who caused it? Then again, he didn't know why he let it surprise him. They'd transfigured him into an inhuman mass on the train ride home last year, then congratulated themselves for it.

"Is it meant to be endearing you think you can hold your own against me, Weasley?" Draco asked. "Or will Potter be fighting your battles for you again this year?"

Frustratingly, Potter rolled his eyes. "Leave it, Ron. No need for you to join me in detention."

Before Draco could throw out a quip about Potter acting up in class that morning, the two of them turned tail and legged it towards the courtyard. It left Draco standing in the center of the hall, ignored and apparently not worth their attention. Being the predicted savior of the wizarding world stretched Potter's ego to where he thought a big head put him above everyone else. Who could ever be worthy of Harry Potter's time?

He ran his tongue over his teeth and took his hand off his wand before he threw a hex at Potter's back. A simple slight didn't justify an action that would get him in trouble. Draco was outnumbered, and Lord Voldemort occupied his room.

Draco took a deep breath, then turned heel to carry on to the Great Hall. His anger boiled with each step, so by the time he slid in at the Slytherin table, he'd all but convinced himself to track down the duo to have the final word.

Or leave them trapped as slugs for half a day. Let them see how it felt.

But Pansy's incessant chatter pushed him back from the edge. She sat with her leg pressed against his, turned in towards him as though he were the sole recipient of her gossip.

"I hear everyone who signed on for Herbology is essentially getting top marks this year. Apparently, Professor Sprout is trying to keep the mood lighthearted, because the world is so dark or some other nonsense."

"You can't possibly know that after a single class," Draco said.

"And one you didn't sign on for," Goyle added.

"I'm just saying it as I heard it. If we'd all taken Herbology and Divination, we'd have a breeze of a year."

"But we'd be stuck in Herbology and Divination," Draco said.

He filled his plate, though trying not to draw attention to it. He allowed Pansy to lead the conversation, vaguely paying attention in favor of enjoying the meal. The benefit of having so many people constantly around him, and people whose concerns always sounded trivial, helped to temper his anger. Their priorities were small, but they contrasted well with his own, reminding him his concerns didn't lie with Potter. Draco would have the final word, if only he had patience in the meantime.

"They did warn us," Theo was saying as Draco tuned back in.

"Not half as well as they should've," Pansy said. "Each class is essentially three now."

"So we'll make study groups for everyone who shares a class."

Draco surveyed the room over Theo's shoulder, but didn't see Potter anywhere at the Gryffindor table. Years ago, scanning the table for him had become habit, and this late in his tenure at Hogwarts, Draco saw no need to bother breaking it. It gave him other insights as well, like when he'd been the first to notice Macmillan dating the Ravenclaw girl a year below him, or when he'd seen the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain charting plays.

Knowing what happened around him mattered, even if he didn't care about the information.

"Draco?"

He broke his reverie, and looked first to Pansy, then back to Theo. "What?"

"Do you think Thomas would want to join the study groups?" Theo said, with the air of someone annoyed at having to repeat himself.

"I've known him a day."

"You both have identical timetables."

"And?"

"And you have the best idea of if he'd be willing, regardless."

Pushing his broccoli around his plate, Draco considered. He wanted to agree, if only to have better odds of getting Theo to take on some of his doubled course load. But he couldn't fathom Voldemort agreeing to a study group. And given the classes he was taking, Draco would end up helping them more, particularly in Potions.

"Let's give the classes a week to see what the full workload is like," Draco said.

He also had prefect rounds to consider, along with Quidditch practice. Until he worked out a schedule, he couldn't commit to any more. At any point, Voldemort could add on additional commands. Draco needed to remain prepared for that possibility.

"Well, then we'll meet for rounds at seven tonight?" Pansy asked.

"That's fine," Draco said, hearing how dismissive he sounded. Even being unintentional, it was enough to deter Pansy from creating more plans, and to steer their conversation away from Draco.

He had to make the most of the lunch period. Eating calmed the hunger, but emphasized his exhaustion. Later in the year, Draco expected he would be able to convince Pansy to let him sleep through rounds. But this early on, he was stuck with her, no matter how much he needed to sleep.

Finishing lunch early, Draco excused himself to go find an empty classroom. Alchemy hadn't been offered this year, and the room was empty, albeit dusty. Draco didn't have long, but once he draped himself across a desk, he slept.

The bells for the after-lunch class woke him. His back ached from having been knocked back into the table so often that morning, and he found himself groggy from too short of a nap after a night awake. Tonight, he would have to find a way to get to sleep, even if just for a few hours, even with Voldemort watching.

Back in the library, V—Thomas hadn't moved. He had an open book in front of him, turned almost all the way to the end, and seemed fully immersed in reading. His distraction made sitting down feel simpler. Draco wasn't acknowledged when he retook his seat, or during the remainder of their free period. They both worked in silence.

By half two, Draco copied all the notes he expected to need, and began to put away the books he'd pulled for the assignment. He yawned, hiding it behind a book as he lifted it to the shelf. The sign of weakness was unbecoming of his name.

When Draco returned to the table, Thomas stacked his own set of books.

"Put these away," he told Draco, nodding to the stack. He only kept out one book: Defensive Charms and Counters.

Although Draco typically had Millicent or Pansy reshelve his books, Draco took them without complaint. As he carried them to their appropriate sections, he skimmed the titles, which gave him a fair idea of what Voldemort currently prioritized.

I intend to have my Death Eaters infiltrate the school.

There were new defenses in place around the school. Aside from brute force, Draco couldn't think of a way to get an army inside. But there couldn't be anything at the Hogwarts library that couldn't be found at Flourish and Blotts or the Grand Penn Library in central London. Draco had to assume Voldemort needed a way to pass the time.

Thomas waited on Draco to return before standing. They continued on with their silence, and when they arrived at the Potions classroom, several cauldrons bubbled at the front of the room. From a distance, Draco couldn't pick out what they were, but still tried to distinguish them by scent.

He took his normal desk, second from the front on the far left, and went ahead to open to the first chapter of Advanced Potion-Making. After Snape's comment in their first class, he might should have waited, but he doubted the man with the jovial expression would demand they put them away.

Theo joined their table, leaving Millicent and Blaise to the table in front of them. Unsurprisingly, only Granger came in from Potter's group, and she took an empty desk at the front of the room. It was no wonder Potter and Weasley didn't get sufficient grades for the advanced course.

"A class without Potter," Theo mused. "You might actually be able to focus."

"Shove off, Nott."

Draco never spent that much time messing with Potter's potions. And he only once manipulated the class into having Potter do his preparation for him. A handful of times in five years.

"Now then, class. Let's do begin right on time," Slughorn said, and began his lecture with a grand overview of his goals for the term, including getting to know the students and really seeing where the true talent lay hidden. He expected to see their best work as they progressed into the complex potions being accomplished this year, and planned a short demonstration for them to begin.

As they were standing, the door to the classroom opened, and Potter and Weasley tumbled inside. Potter offered apologies for being late, which of course, as their local celebrity, were handwaved. And even again, when Potter pointed out he'd showed up without the proper supplies and book.

Of course it was fine. Everything Potter did was fine.

Draco stewed over the general unfairness while Slughorn displayed the various potions on the table. Draco learned how to brew the majority of them over the summer, and didn't need an explanation of love potions and their effects. If anything, the polyjuice brewing held the most interest. The one cauldron could be a few days' supply, should something happen to one of Draco's brews.

No. It would never work. Draco was expected to brew batch after batch that would last hours at a time. Anything made from following a standard text wouldn't surpass an hour.

Slughorn issued his challenge, and Draco prepared his cauldron. He doubted too many gazes would be directed their way, but didn't want to risk brewing two batches. When able, he chopped or diced a double count of ingredients, sliding over a weighed half. Thomas glared across the room, not nearly as discretely as his cover story would allow for, hardly keeping up the guise of trying to win the Felix Felicis.

Draco crushed the sopophorous bean and was dripping in the juice when Slughorn came over to check on their progress. Before Draco had the chance to start any sort of conversation with him—perhaps Slughorn knew his grandfather? They were around the same age—Slughorn moved to the next table, where he chatted amiably with Blaise about his mother's latest husband. It appeared that being in the Slug Club had benefits that extended into the classroom.

How had Blaise caught his attention? Of all people.

As some self-consolation, Draco excelled at Potions and knew he could prove himself through results. He had a summer of teaching with the former Potions professor to fall back on where the textbook fell short, enabling him to work as much on intuition as instruction, adding stirs and additional portions when he felt necessary.

In his periphery, Draco caught Thomas glancing his way every so often, mimicking his steps.

Humidity built in the room, and Draco wished he could push back his sleeves. Blue fumes raised towards the ceiling, and somehow, Blaise's potion was black.

Theo checked on Draco's cauldron. "Why is yours that color?"

"It's meant to be pale."

Paler than Draco's, but he got close to how he'd imagined it finishing. These textbooks could be so outdated, even the recent editions. The printed version in his book might turn out a potion that would sting like a rash, but it wouldn't kill a mealworm.

"That's time now," Slughorn called. "Stop stirring."

Draco gently tapped off the excess liquid from his stirring rod, and set it on the metal plate beside his cauldron. Slughorn made his rounds and Draco used the time to start to clean his workstation. Chopping the valerian root left remnants around his scales, and the juice from the sopophorous bean left a sticky spot by his weights.

Slughorn nodded approvingly at Draco and Thomas's cauldron, but walked aside without comment. Draco frowned, then looked down at his potion. It certainly wasn't as pale as he'd seen depicted, but it wasn't far from it. No one could have gotten closer, certainly.

But Slughorn clapped his hands together at the sight of Potter's. "The clear winner!"

Potter accepted the prize proudly, and even Granger stared, stunned. Five years in Potions had never amounted to a single compliment directed at Potter. Having been his partner more than once, Draco knew firsthand Snape's criticism wasn't unwarranted. Harry Potter couldn't brew a proper potion if he had someone standing at his side and directing his hand.

If Granger hadn't even managed it, how had Potter?

Potter gave Draco a smug grin when he accepted the small vial of Felix Felicis. Draco's sneer in return didn't dissuade the pride now printed on Potter's expression. The congratulations coming from the right side of the room only inflated Potter's ego.

"Must've cheated," Theo said.

"Must've," Draco agreed.

There was no other explanation. Draco never had maintained the top scores in the class, but he was certainly leagues ahead of Potter. And after a summer of private tutoring, his potion hadn't come out on top?

"Not that any teacher would out him for it," Theo said. "I swear they get away with everything."

"He's full of tricks," Thomas said, thoughtfully.

"You don't know the half of it," Theo said, and began cleaning their station. He angled in, as though turning his back on the other half the room. "One of these days, he'll get what's coming to him."

Draco would have scoffed, if anyone else had been beside him. He bit his tongue and set his scales in their carrying case. Cleaning the table, magicking away the inferior potion, keeping busy, all were easier than contributing to a conversation here.

Why didn't he just cast the killing curse now?

Blaise turned in his seat to face their table, his tools hastily dumped into his cauldron. He folded his hands together, and directed his attention to Thomas. "Do you play Quidditch?"

"My interests are more academic."

"Pansy was right about the study group," Theo said, nudging Draco.

"You just want someone to share the readings with."

Draco carried his cauldron to the far wall where it would wait for him until next week's class. He shouldered through others doing the same, and when he started back to the desk, he almost collided with how close Thomas stood. If it had been anyone else, he would comment. He had to comment.

"You'll make me drop something, McGruder."

His heart pounded and the moment dragged on, likely only a second, but eternal in emotion. The reaction he received struck him despite the simplicity. Thomas lifted an eyebrow, and the flash of eye contact reminded Draco who held the power between them. Voldemort allowed Draco to speak to him with such a tone.

But the exchanged passed without further sentiment, giving him leave to return to the others, to breathe.

"Let's go to the lake a while," Theo suggested.

"I've got Snape's homework," Draco said. "Finally landing the Defense position didn't make him a slouch."

Blaise scoffed. "It's the first day, Draco. Come with us."

"You'll have to get by a day without me."

Draco leaned over the desk to grab his bag, accidentally meeting Potter's gaze when he stood upright. Potter twiddled the phial of liquid luck between two fingers, displaying it where Draco could see it too easily. He had to wonder what Potter would use it on. Perhaps to carry on his win streak as Seeker. With Weasley as their best keeper, the Gryffindor team would all need to take liquid luck to keep up.

"I'll get you out there at some point soon," Blaise said, and told Draco goodbye with a short squeeze by his elbow.

He had hoped they would walk back to the common room to drop off their books at least. But they took everything with them on their way out of the dungeons, leaving Draco to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with his new roommate. He couldn't linger on the disappointment or sense of isolation.

"Did you need to return to the library?" Draco asked.

"Not today. Is Potter not typically proficient with potion craft?"

"Professor Snape wasn't lying. He must have cheated."

"Cheating wasn't tolerated in my day."

"Slughorn doesn't seem the type to catch on."

"You're bitter."

"Within reason."

It was well within reason to be annoyed someone got away with cheating. Especially when that someone got away with everything. How he hadn't been expelled for attacking Draco on the Quidditch pitch last year was beyond him. They hadn't been expelled for the incident with the flying car either. At some point, something had to stick.

"You'd do well to hide it."

Draco turned before catching himself, in disbelief at the command. Somehow, it was more shocking than telling Draco he'd be serving as a personal valet forever long was required.

"You take issue with that?" Voldemort asked.

He was meant to say no.

"It would take some practice."

Voldemort said nothing more of it on their walk back to the common room. He kept pace with Draco, walking in sync with him, never stepping ahead or behind. Either would have seemed off to anyone paying them any mind.

Draco gave the password to enter their common room, which in the early afternoon, only had a handful of students hanging around. A couple first years were poking at the serpent on the mantle, but the paintings gave Draco and Voldemort the most attention.

In their room, before Draco could drop his bag, Voldemort slammed Draco against the wall, nearly knocking him into the simmering cauldrons. Taking Draco's face with either hand, he established the eye contact needed to batter Draco's Occlumency shield. His head pounded at the intrusion, innately trying to stop it while logic demanded he comply.

Flashes of the day broke to the surface of his thoughts, of a mostly untouched breakfast, of bruising his back in Defense, to encountering Potter in the halls, and there, Voldemort released Draco with a push, knocking his head into the stonework.

"Nothing you say or do will be kept secret from me, Draco Malfoy. Your petty squabbles with Harry Potter are at an end."

Draco shrank against the wall, trying to make himself smaller. Voldemort kept Thomas's form, which put them at eye level.

"Yes, my lord."

"Every thought, every interaction, is at my command this year."

He nodded in short, jittery motions, not knowing how he could quickly convey his willingness to obey. His best efforts today fell short. What made tomorrow any different?

"Answer me, Draco."

"I understand, my lord."

Voldemort surveyed Draco with an unwavering stare, and Draco cast his eyes to the floor, willing himself to be smaller, more submissive. The only thing under his control in this situation was his breathing, and even that was speeding away from him.

"While you work, mentally prepare yourself for it."

Voldemort allowed Draco to step away from the wall, and he remained small while he went to the desk. Most of the surface was covered with the polyjuice ingredients, but he left a small stretch empty for homework. He rushed into beginning the essays and doing the work assigned.

Voldemort had said year that time.

Thank you all so much for reading! Your comments are greatly appreciated.